


Eyes That Paralyze

by MissLouisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Punk, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLouisa/pseuds/MissLouisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia picks punk as her project theme on a whim.</p><p>She doesn't expect to meet Cora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes That Paralyze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scydia_stallison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scydia_stallison/gifts).



> This is a gift for allydiasboner, whose prompts were vague and _very_ fun to play with, and I hope you enjoy reading it.
> 
> Many many thanks to [queerkira](http://queerkira.tumblr.com) for doing some really helpful beta work for me, and to Kat for helping with the plot and Devin for coming up with the band name. And of course, huge thanks to the lovely mods of this exchange for putting all the work in for a third time.
> 
> Title is from Skinny Girl Diet - Eyes That Paralyze

"Lydia," Mr Nichols calls from the front of the class. "Stay behind, please?"

Lydia stays seated as her classmates pack up around her, Allison throwing her a quizzical look.

"I'll wait outside," Allison says, brushing a hand over Lydia's shoulder.

The class empties, and Lydia collects up her folders and approaches the desk, the click of her heels echoing around the now empty room.

"Mr Nichols?"

"You've submitted punk as your proposal for your project," he says.

Lydia nods. She's been waiting for this conversation since she submitted. She'd been doing a little research in her free time, and when Mr Nichols opened up the project to interpretation, she went for it.

Knowing, of course, that it would piss him off. 

"I understand that you've already got into your college of choice, but that doesn't mean you can mess around now, Lydia."

"I got into every college I applied to," Lydia reminds him. "And I'm not messing around. It's a research project on the politics of punk, and the history behind it."

"If you'd gone into more detail when you submitted-" Mr Nichols starts.

"You should have asked for more detail. You asked for a general topic, I gave one."

"Lydia," Mr Nichols warns. "You haven't got valedictorian in the bag just yet."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's not a threat," he says. "I'm just asking you to take this seriously."

"I will," Lydia says. "Starting with the very serious gig I'm going to this weekend."

"I can still fail you," he calls after her as she leaves.

Allison slides into step with her outside of class.

"What did he want?"

"To reassert male dominance," Lydia says. "Also, he wasn't happy with my choice of topic for the research project."

"Yours must have been less obscure than mine," Allison says.

"Punk," Lydia says.

"You're getting into punk?"

Lydia doesn't have to look at Allison to know she's getting a raised eyebrow.

"Want to come and see a band play this weekend?"

"Sure," Allison says. She pauses. "What are you supposed to wear to a punk gig?"

"I have a few ideas," Lydia says.

-

Lydia has exactly zero ideas for what to wear to a punk gig. It's the first time she's been completely at a loss for clothing in years. She's done a little research, but nothing in her wardrobe fits punk. Even the leather skirt she owns is brown and goes best with a blouse.

Allison is prepared, apparently. She's always been a little edgier than Lydia, with the boots and the expensively aged jeans where Lydia wears skirts and floral patterned dresses.

"Think dark colors, with a few splashes of brights," Allison says. "It might be a little cliche, but do you have any jewelry with spikes?"

"Do I look like someone who owns jewelry with spikes?"

Lydia watches Allison bite back a smile.

"You're just annoyed because you're going out of your comfort zone," Allison says.

"Since when is punk your comfort zone?"

Allison shrugs. "Scott's friend, Derek? He talks about it a lot, his sister is seriously into that scene. I could probably get her to talk to you, if you like."

"What's she like?"

"I've never met her," Allison says. "But Derek says she's okay. Angry, got a few tattoos."

"Sounds like Derek," Lydia says, frowning. Allison snorts.

"Yeah, well, think Derek but without the personal growth that comes with being friends with Scott."

"Wow," Lydia says. "She must be really angry then."

"I'll get Scott to call her for you," Allison says with a grin, reaching in and pulling something out of Lydia's wardrobe. 

"What about this?"

In one hand, Allison has a soft grey t-shirt that Lydia never sleeps in any more, and in the other, red shorts that she wore to a party once. She's not sure if they even still fit her.

"I'm assuming even you own fishnet tights," Allison says.

Lydia grins. "What would I do without you?"

"Fail History, apparently."

"Please," Lydia says. "Mr Nichols is all empty threats."

Allison sits on the end of Lydia's bed while she changes.

"So why punk, anyway?"

"Curiosity," Lydia tells her. "I heard Beacon Hills kind of had a scene."

"I think we have that one bar," Allison says. "Not sure it counts as a scene."

"That's where we're going tonight," Lydia grins, tossing a fake ID at Allison. "I got it from Danny. Drink all you like, we can walk home."

"Dressed like that?" Allison asks, gesturing at Lydia's outfit. Lydia glances in the mirror.

Her red hair clashes with the shorts in a way she'd known when she'd bought them, but here, it makes them kind of scream at you. The t-shirt clings to her loosely, skimming over her breasts and hanging down to her crotch.

"You should rip off the sleeves," Allison says.

Lydia meets Allison's eyes in the mirror. "It's Jackson's."

"So? Are you going to give it back?"

Lydia smiles, and Allison stands up to help her tear off the sleeves.

"What about shoes?" Lydia asks, as Allison takes a step back to survey her outfit. 

Allison frowns. "Do you own anything that doesn't have a killer heel?"

"Some of my killer heels are black patent leather," Lydia considers. "That could work."

Allison snorts. "You're going to wear fuck me pumps to a punk gig for a high school project."

"It's for fun, too," Lydia says.

"I told my dad I was sleeping here," Allison says. "If you ditch me-"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I wouldn't."

Allison raises her eyebrows.

"It was once," Lydia says. "And it was Jackson and I hated myself."

"We should have castrated him when we had the chance," Allison muses. 

"Would have saved you the cab fare," Lydia says.

She's not going to screw over Allison tonight, Lydia knows. It's a girls night, the number of which are dwindling as senior year draws to a close. It might be for a school project but it is for fun too. It's a different world and Lydia doesn't get to explore different worlds very often.

Especially not ones that are oriented to include her, like she has a sneaking suspicion this gig might be. Even if she doesn't get the dress code. 

"What time does the gig start?" Allison says, glancing at her watch.

"You're not changing?" Lydia asks. Allison's wearing black jeans and boots, with a silvery tank top and a long cardigan.

Allison shrugs. "My everyday fashion doesn't look quite so out of place as yours."

"I think you need more eyeliner," Lydia says. "And the gig starts at nine."

"More eyeliner it is," Allison says, and the two of them end up side by side vigorously applying black eyeliner. Lydia, by force of habit, winds up painting on some lipstick, too. She doesn't care if it makes her look out of place, it makes her feel better.

Looking punk is a lot more out of her element than Lydia thought it would be. 

"Maybe a leather jacket, too," Lydia says. 

"It's in my car," Allison says, putting her hands down on the table. "You ready?"

Lydia tilts her head to one side, staring at their reflections.

"We'll do," she says, smiling.

Allison sheds her cardigan and Lydia puts her phone in her pocket, discovering for once that she's actually leaving the house in clothes with pockets.

Maybe there are merits to this punk thing. 

"Are we walking?" Allison asks.

"In these heels?" Lydia asks. "Mom will give us a ride there, I told her we'd get a cab home."

"Or I could drive and not drink," Allison says.

"You really want to be both conspicuous and sober?"

Allison snorts. "Fine," she says.

-

They get to the bar half an hour before the gig starts. Their fake IDs and Lydia's excellent eyelash batting abilities get them drinks in no time, and Lydia is sipping at something she's pretty sure she didn't order for a remarkably low price.

Allison is glaring at any boy that dares to approach them. 

"What's the band called?" Allison asks.

"Tattered Valkyries," Lydia says. She gestures at the poster on the wall. The image is grainy but the text is clear. "Leaning towards the riot grrrl end of punk, I think."

She doesn't think, she knows. She'd picked out riot grrrl deliberately, liking the politics behind it, and the way the music has survived over the years. She doesn't know much about this band, but she's hoping it'll be good. 

"Of course Lydia Martin would find a way to piss off Mr Nichols even more with her research project."

"It's not my fault he's a misogynist," Lydia says.

Allison opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a jarring drum riff from the stage. Lydia honestly hadn't noticed the stage before. It's a pretty grimy bar, dimly lit, and the stage is barely raised a foot above the rest of the room. 

There are cheers, though, and the lead singer comes out on the stage from behind a ratty looking black curtain.

"Hi guys," says the lead singer. She's got more eyeliner than Lydia thought possible, a black stud in the center of her lower lip and two rings in her right nostril.

She reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and Lydia spots a massive black stretcher earring, and that's when the two of them make eye contact.

There's a brief pause.

"We're The Tattered Valkyries," says the lead singer. "And we're probably better than you."

There are cheers from the crowd assembling in front of the stage, but Allison and Lydia stay near the bar. Partly because if Lydia got anywhere near that mosh pit she would one hundred percent lose a shoe, but also because the view is better back here.

It's a lot more obvious now how new they are to the punk scene, just by looking at what other people are wearing. 

The lead singer, though - and Lydia needs to learn her name, to stalk her on every form of social media there is - she's something else. She's wearing this ratty black Henley, grey jeans that look so worn they'd be soft to the touch, and ridiculous boots, with soles an inch thick and a line of spikes up the side.

She's kind of beautiful.

There's a red streak in her hair that catches in the light sometimes and Lydia finds herself just staring.

The music is roaring loud and Lydia should be paying attention, taking note of the politics in the lyrics and the way the crowd reacts, of the demographic of the audience. She should be doing something.

Instead, she's staring. Allison has to elbow her three times to get her attention so they can buy another drink, which has definitely never happened before. She gets a smirk for her trouble, too.

Allison tugs her sleeve and the two of them go to the toilets were the sound outside is muffled, so they can talk while Allison pees.

"I've never seen you like that," Allison tells her. Lydia leans against the sink, ignores the looks from the two decidedly more hardcore girls who enter and walk past her. 

"She's hot," Lydia says. "I'm allowed to look."

Allison comes out of the cubical and steps up to the sink beside Lydia. It's grimy and the soap dispenser is empty, but she turns the tap on regardless.

It creaks.

"You definitely were doing more than looking," Allison says. "You were lusting. Daydreaming. Fantasizing."

Lydia purses her lips.

"It's not like I'm ever going to see her again," she says.

Allison dries her hands on a paper towel and drops it into the overflowing bin. 

"Sure, like you're not going to stalk her online when you get home," Allison says, laughing at her.

Lydia pushes away from the sink and walks towards the door, holding it open for Allison to go through.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lydia says primly, as the noise filters back into the bathroom, and Allison laughs again.

Lydia just pushes her back into the crowd. 

This time, the two of them edge further into the crowd, into the hot cramped space between people all looking a lot scarier than the two of them. The music is loud and Lydia is glad she wore her heels, otherwise she wouldn't be able to see a thing.

The lead singer is incredible.

The rest of the crowd is mostly women, which Lydia guesses goes with the riot grrrl vibe, and the music is… shoutier than anything Lydia has listened to previously. But she likes it, likes the way she can feel the bass in every inch of her, and there's something about the feeling in the room that she loves.

Mr Nichols is going to hate the essay she's going to write on this. There's misandry scattered liberally in the lyrics being yelled by the crowd around Lydia's shoulders, but what she loves more is the feeling that it's women supporting women.

There's something special about this. 

The bass drops for a moment, the instruments going really quiet, just the beat of the drum, and the lead singer starts singing softly into the mike, lyrics that are about something angrier than Lydia can understand but told whisper soft, the kind of anger that requires forethought and planning. 

She wants to know the singer. She wants to know what made her angry, pissed her off enough to write a song about it.

She wants to understand the music. 

Lydia makes eye contact with the lead singer again, just as she gives one last breathy refrain before the drums kick up to full speed and the guitars come in again, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

"You are having fun," Allison screams into Lydia's ear, and Lydia turns to grin at her, for once not caring that her eyeliner is definitely smudged and her face is shiny with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead.

"We should come back every weekend," Lydia tells Allison, who tilts her head back in a laugh. 

The two of them get sucked back into the music, reveling in it so much they lose track of time until the band announce it's their last song of the night.

That's Lydia's cue to try and push closer to the stage, moving around the edge of the moshpit. As kind as she's seen these people be, picking others up when they fall, she's not interested in that.

She just wants to get up close for this one song. She's holding Allison's hand tightly, sweaty palms slipping together, and eventually they push their way through so they're right at the front.

Lydia's pretty sure she's had at least three drinks dumped on her in the time it took them to get there. 

But she's there, hand in hand with Allison, staring up at this gorgeous brunette creature who's saying things into the microphone that Lydia feels in her bones. About being queer and being a woman and figuring your shit out. It's an amazing set ender and Lydia's pretty sure she's never going to recover from the two minutes she stands there.

She's barely aware of the other members of the band, just the lead singer and her hands wrapped around the microphone, and then it's over.

"Thanks for a good time, kids," she yells to the crowd, even though she looks like a teenager, just the same as Lydia. "We'll be back next weekend!"

And then she leaves and Lydia feels a little bereft. The crowd starts dissipating, half heading for the bar and the other half heading for the exit, and it takes Allison tugging at her elbow for Lydia to remember where she is.

"We need to go," Allison says, looking at her watch. "Your mom wasn't waiting up for us, was she?"

Lydia shakes her head. "She'll be pissed if we wake her up, though."

"We'll go quietly," Allison says, and they queue for the exit, eventually streaming out onto the street with the rest of the crowd. Lydia glances around, wondering if the lead singer might be among the crowd, but it's optimistic at best and besides, she can't keep Allison waiting. 

There are other girls around, though, lots of them, with the kind of punk look that Lydia can only dream of. She's always daydreamed a little of getting her nose pierced, but these girls - women - take it to the next level, and it's amazing. Lydia wants to look like that.

Maybe not like all of them, because some of them cross the line into scary, but a lot of them look amazing. Still scary enough to piss off teachers and parents though, she's sure.

-

The sun shines brightly through Lydia's curtains, waking her up.

She elbows Allison, who groans. Allison has always been less of a morning person than Lydia - though it's Allison who finds the motivation to get up earlier for a morning jog, somehow. 

"Your bed is so comfortable," Allison says, still face down on the mattress as Lydia sits up. 

"I have a hangover," Lydia says. "And my ears are still ringing."

Allison turns her head to smile up at Lydia. "I'm surprised you heard any of the music the way you were staring."

"Shut up," Lydia tells her.

Allison's grin grows wider. "Are you embarrassed? You don't get embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed," Lydia mutters. 

Allison snorts. 

"You can keep sleeping if you want," Lydia tells her. "I've got coffee with Derek's sister."

"Cora," Allison mumbles, already burying her head back into the pillow. 

"Yeah," Lydia says. "You can make yourself toast if you want, Mom won't mind."

"See you later," Allison says drowsily as Lydia leaves the room to shower, closing the curtains as she goes. She's glad she forgot to close them last night, because she also forgot to set an alarm.

And given that Cora has already been described to her as angry, she doesn't want to piss her off. Not when she doesn't know anyone else in the punk scene. 

She dresses quickly, wearing the kind of clothes she'd wear to school, not the kind she'd wear to a punk gig. She's not out to impress Cora, just use her for her project. 

And besides, she's not sure she can put together any reasonably alternative outfit without Allison's help. 

She's still running late by the time she reaches the coffee shop, a venue Cora had apparently suggested. Lydia hasn't actually communicated with her, just discussed it with Scott who'd organized the whole thing. She doesn't even know who she's looking for, only someone who looks punk and maybe a bit like Derek.

The door has a bell that rings as it swings open, and she scans the room. It's fairly empty on a Sunday morning, and it's a pretty out of the way place anyway, but the only punk person in here is easy to spot, even if she isn't facing the door.

It's the shoes, she thinks, that are a giveaway, as she approaches Cora. She rounds the table and turns to face Cora.

"Hi," she starts, sticking out a hand, and then her jaw drops.

It's her. The lead singer of the band. She can't even remember the band's damn name right now, but she's there, right in front of her.

Cora Hale is the lead singer that Lydia couldn't stop staring at.

"You're the lead singer," Lydia gets out eventually, when Cora looks up and glares.

Cora smiles briefly, a hint of teeth in it. "I'm actually waiting to meet someone," she says, politely.

"To meet me," Lydia says, a little breathless. "Cora Hale, right? I'm Lydia Martin."

"You don't look like someone who's a fan of my band," Cora says slowly. She gestures to the seat opposite her. "I thought this was a school project."

"It was. Is," Lydia corrects. "But I went to your gig last night for research, to learn more about the culture and the audience."

Cora narrows her eyes. 

Lydia can't help but hold her breath that Cora might recognize her. It's stupid, really. Cora and Lydia are preternaturally mismatched. They're from different worlds, as cliché as that sounds.

"You shoved your way to the front for the last song," Cora says eventually, leaning back in her chair. "With your friend, the brunette."

Lydia nods. "I didn't know it was your band," she says. "I had no idea who you were."

"You had a good time, though," Cora says. It's not a question, and there's something knowing in her eyes that Lydia's not sure she's entirely comfortable with. 

Lydia swallows. "It was different, but I liked it."

She's uneasy, now. She doesn't know where she stands with Cora Hale. She's still feeling a little high from last night's experience – a little otherworldly. She still thinks Cora Hale is maybe the most gorgeous girl she's ever seen.

And she's still fascinated by the music. 

"Anyway," Cora says. "You're meant to be asking the questions."

Lydia feels a little affronted, like Cora's rejected her out of hand, decided she's beneath her.

"Well, I need to change some of my questions now," she says, frowning down at her notepad. 

"Start with the easy ones," Cora says.

"Okay," Lydia says, squaring her shoulders. This is just a school project, she tells herself, and she's never going to see Cora again. 

"How old were you when you got into punk, and what about it first interested you?"

Cora settles in her chair and starts talking, and Lydia starts scribbling. It's a little easier like this, when she can pretend there isn't something more she wants from Cora. The sound of her voice is soothing, and there's passion behind it. A fire that Lydia recognizes. 

"It was the music at first," Cora tells Lydia. "I liked the anger, and my parents had raised me to be a feminist. I was twelve, I think."

Lydia can see a tiny stud in Cora's eyebrow that she couldn't see before now that she's up close, and she wants to ask about the piercings, find out if Cora's got any tattoos, but she can't, she thinks.

She's only just meeting her.

"I bet you were the only punk in your grade," Lydia says.

"Our grade," Cora reminds Lydia. "We had math together in seventh grade."

Lydia raises her eyebrows. "You don't go to Beacon Hills High," she says.

Cora shakes her head. "I dropped out. Valkyries was more important."

"Do you make a living off the band?" Lydia asks. She's abandoned any pretense at writing notes now. She's just - interested.

She'll remember the important bits later, she hopes. Lydia's memory is usually pretty trustworthy.

Cora shrugs. "We play gigs all over California, but it's not like we have a record deal. We sell homemade CDs and zines and t-shirts at all our gigs and we make some money that way, too."

"I didn't see any last night," Lydia says, frowning. She thinks a zine might have been something useful to pick up for this project.

"It was crowded," Cora says. "Maybe you didn't spot it."

"Do you have any zines?" Lydia asks.

Cora levels her with a steady look. "They're not free."

"I'll pay," Lydia promises. "It would be useful. And interesting."

"In that order?" Cora asks, a smirk on her face.

Lydia's eyes keep dropping to Cora's lips and she must be embarrassing herself right now, but she's not sure she cares.

"I didn't know anything about punk two days ago," Lydia says. "I'm still learning."

Cora makes a contemplative noise. "Erica Reyes is in your grade at school," she tells Lydia. "She can help you out, if you want to learn."

Lydia frowns. "The blonde one? Epileptic?"

"That's the one. She plays drums for Valkyries, we have strict lighting regs."

"She doesn't have any piercings," Lydia says, trying to think back to when the last time she spoke to Erica Reyes was.

"Nipples, two cartilage."

Lydia blinks at Cora.

"I went with her to get them done," Cora explains, rolling her eyes. "Her boyfriend plays bass for us, too, but he isn't really into the whole scene as much."

"A riot grrrl band with a male bassist?" Lydia asks.

Cora shrugs. "It's Boyd. He gets it."

"Who are your musical influences?" Lydia says, trying to get the interview back on track.

"The big ones were the ones I discovered first," Cora says. "Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, The Runaways. And from there I just... explored the genre. Made Derek take me to any gig I could afford, pretty much."

"Is he into the scene?" Lydia asks.

“Do you want to interview my brother?” Cora asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Lydia's eyes widen. “No,” she says, quickly. Her heart flutters in her chest at the thought that the interview might end so soon. “I'm here for you.”

Cora smirks and lets her arms drop. “For me?”

Lydia feels her cheeks growing hot. She'd forgotten why she was here. It had only taken a minute or two but she'd lost the thread because she'd gotten distracted by Cora talking. She's getting to know Cora, and she likes it. Even though it isn't really going both ways. 

"Sorry," Lydia asks. "I can go back to my list."

Cora narrows her eyes. "No," she says. "Let's make it fair. My turn to ask questions."

Lydia swallows.

"Okay," she says quietly.

"Did you like the gig because you liked the sound or because the lyrics meant something to you?" Cora asks.

"Both," Lydia says. "And a third reason."

"What's that?" Cora says, although there's a smile playing at the corner of her lips like she knows what the answer is going to be.

"I thought the lead singer was really hot," Lydia says.

"Okay," Cora says. "Last question."

"Hit me," Lydia says, not knowing what to expect from Cora.

"Do you want to come back to mine?"

Lydia's eyes widen and her throat goes dry.

Her mouth opens without her bidding.

"Yes," she says, voice a little hoarse.

Cora grins and stands up, picking up her back from the coffee shop floor.

"I'll show you some of the zines," she says. "Among other things."

-

"You drive here?" Cora asks, once they've exited the shop.

"My car is parked up the road," Lydia tells her. She's not sure how she feels about inviting Cora into her nice, clean car - somewhere she's always thought of privately as her safe space - but then Cora's invited her back to her home, so it feels a bit ridiculous.

Cora's just so... alien to everything Lydia knows, and Lydia likes that, she does. It's just an adjustment.

Cora gets in the passenger side and looks around the car with feigned disinterest.

"You drive stick?" she asks.

"Seemed like a useful skill," Lydia says, putting the car in first and pulling away. "Where are we headed?"

Cora directs her with ease, but other than that the ride is mostly silent. Lydia wonders if Cora is regretting her decision to invite her back. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't considering 'remembering' an appointment.

She's already sent Allison a text to tell her where she's headed, getting back a teasing series of emojis. Scott has apparently rubbed off on Allison slightly too much.

"My brother will be home, by the way. Problem?"

Lydia raises an eyebrow, resists the urge to glance over and see what face Cora is making. She needs to keep her eyes on the road.

"I thought we were just going to look at your zines," Lydia says.

Cora snorts softly beside her. "You didn't. But I can work with that."

"Will Derek be weird?" Lydia asks. She doesn't know Derek, not really. She's met him a few times in passing, but they've never really hung out.

"Depends. Have you done anything to piss him off lately?"

Lydia makes a contemplative noise as she turns off down the muddy road leading into the forest. "Does ogling his younger sister count?"

"We won't tell him about that," Cora says.

Lydia laughs, and then Cora's house suddenly looms out of nowhere. Lydia parks in front of the house, next to a black Camaro, and gets out.

"Is that yours?" Lydia asks.

"I don't know what you've read about Valkyries but we're not that successful," Cora says dryly. "It's Derek's."

"I haven't read much about your band," Lydia admits. "I just heard there was a gig and went along."

"Yeah, I figured," Cora says. She sticks her key in the lock and opens the door. She calls out Derek's name immediately, and something Lydia doesn't quite catch is yelled back.

"Come on," Cora says, leading Lydia up the stairs. She knocks on a door at the top, but doesn't wait for an answer before opening the door.

Derek's behind it, and Lydia greets him politely. She's pretty sure Derek sees her as some aloof math nerd, and the two have never really talked.

Derek's definitely not someone who is going to help her out with Cora.

"I bet he didn't love it when you dropped out of high school," Lydia says offhandedly, on her way to Cora's room.

Cora rolls her eyes. "Just because you're an academic superhero doesn't mean it's for everyone."

"I wasn't judging you," Lydia says.

"Wouldn’t matter if you were," Cora says. She opens the door to her room and gestures for Lydia to enter.

Lydia's completely distracted away from her conversation with Cora by looking around Cora's room. The wall is painted dark red, but you can hardly see the color under the posters that cover the walls. Band posters and posters for political movements, both current and historical. There are a few movies thrown in there, too. One wall is floor to ceiling shelves, with magazines and records and CDs and books. More than Lydia thinks she's ever seen outside of a shop or a library before.

"That's impressive," Lydia says.

"I've been building up my collection," Cora says, flipping the light on. "Hang on, I can make up a punk primer."

"That's nice of you," Lydia says, slightly uncertain. Now that she's here – now that she's in Cora's room – she doesn't know what's supposed to happen next. She doesn't know what the end game is here. She's miles out of her comfort zone.

"Sit on the bed," Cora says, taking control for Lydia before she squats in front of her shelves.

Lydia follows orders, and sits on Cora's rumpled duvet. Cora starts throwing zines at her, decorated with variations of the Venus symbol and swear words.

"Start with those three," Cora says, standing up. 

"You're going to save my project," Lydia tells her.

Cora laughs. "You're Lydia Martin, your project was never going to be awful."

"I have a reputation to uphold," Lydia says.

"Yeah?" Cora asks. "What about my reputation as a queer punk?"

"Helping with a school project isn't very punk," Lydia says.

"Maybe if I had an ulterior motive," Cora says. "Like getting you alone in my room."

"Then you should know that I would have gone home with you last night," Lydia says.

She doesn't know how she didn't notice Cora moving closer to her, but suddenly their knees are knocking together and Lydia's tilting her neck back to look up at Cora.

Cora's lips meet hers, warm and soft, and Lydia can feel Cora's hand on her back, maneuvering her so they're lying down. Cora's weight is heavy on top of her, and her hair is soft under Lydia's hand.

She doesn't know when her hand went to Cora's head. She can't keep track of her limbs with the things Cora is doing with her tongue. Cora's hips grind against hers, and her tongue piercing has a metallic taste.

It's completely different to kissing Jackson.

It's so much better.

"This okay?" Cora asks, breathlessly.

"I want to date you," Lydia says in a rush. She doesn't even know it's going to come out until it's there, hanging in the air between them.

There's a pause, and Lydia thinks she might have ruined everything.

"I can work with that," Cora says, and then she drops her head to kiss Lydia again. Her head is swimming and she's dating the lead singer of a punk band she hadn't even heard of until yesterday.

This is not where she thought she'd be when she said goodbye to Allison that morning. 

She needs to take control of this, she thinks, and she rolls Cora onto her side so the two of them are on the same level, legs still dangling off the bed.

"I think we need to rearrange," she tells Cora, when she can finally bear to stop kissing her.

Cora smiles. "We don't have to keep making out," she says. 

"You want to educate me on punk?" Lydia asks.

"Yeah," Cora says. "We could do that." 

Their hands tangle together as they curl up on the bed. Lydia reads excerpts of the zines aloud, questioning Cora on things as they come up.

The red streak in Cora's hair feels softer than Lydia expects when she catches it between her fingers, distracted for a moment from what she's saying.

Cora's still incredibly beautiful, even lounging on the bed in rumpled clothes. Lydia savors the bite of her humor and the way she's blunt without being cruel.

She's struck, for a moment, by the way they must clash, lying on Cora's bed - Lydia looking the way she always does, the look she's been perfecting since junior high, and Cora with her hair and her piercings and her clothes.

It's a picture she likes, but she thinks she'd like it more if she added a piercing or too of her own. 

Either way, she's going to ace this project. Mr Nichols will hate it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi.


End file.
